The Bottom Line, Part I

Once you commit to a life of writing it's hard to turn it off even when your current baby is being scrutinized by the publisher and you are left wringing your hands until the notes come back.  I've taken to entering poetry contests (maybe I'll get lucky, or maybe I'll win the lottery) as a way to keep the parts from rusting up.  And because although I'm three chapters into novel #2 writing poetry is sort of like going to the fridge and checking out what's there rather than actually sitting down and getting back to work.  Why say it in 60,0000 words when you can say it in 50?

My first attempt turned out to be more of a scam but I'm too smart to be taken in by them past the initial call for entries, even if this organization is akin to the smooth-talking and very successful tonic salesman who rode into town with a spiffy painted wagon and a twirly cane. The organization has a nice name: International Library of Poetry, or Poetry.com for short.  Apparently my poem, The Mail, has made it all the way up to "Editor's Choice For Outstanding Achievement in Poetry" and will be published in a handsome, leather-bound volume called "Immortal Verses" which I can purchase for the low, low price of $59.00 (volume discounts apply).  Of course I am not obligated to buy one of these hefty tomes (they claim my poem will be published regardless) but every week or so they send me further up the prize chain in the vain hope I will at some point weaken and order copies of the book or (in their latest offer) a CD of my poem being "professionally read".

Gosh, I went to theatre school so I think I could do that on my very own....

Apparently an outstanding achievement award isn't enough to garner one of the many cash prizes they throw in as a hook, but I'm not sorry I wrote the poem.  Undaunted, I have moved on, bitten by the idea I could actually make a little money, or perhaps it's just the lure of knowing strangers are forced to read my work.  But don't worry, once my novel comes out in June, I'll be on the road pushing my book like nobody's business.  After all, why leave it to others to force the world to acknowledge my genius?

Read "The Mail" here and if you feel lucky you too can try for the $1,000 prize they are offering (after 6,000 poet/suckers buy "Immortal Verses" for bragging rights on their coffee table).

(sorry about the double space typesetting....blog limitations)

The Mail

The mail is in

By the kitchen it sits 

breathing, or perhaps a memory

From the corners of the room come

the scent of roses, the crust of pie

baking and apples bubbling over.

Quiet is where we are

not where we are going

Dust settles

Our life is careful, daily

The mail comes

A life of its own

and meets us where we wait

to be opened

Next: Bottom Line, Part II (where all puns converge)